


I Could Have Both

by RetroactiveCon



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Chronic Pain, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kneeling, Multi, Non-Sexual Kink, Sub Leonard Snart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “Len?”Getting out to the kitchen reveals the source of the disruption: Len, bent over with his arms on the counter and his face hidden, Iris’s heating pad lamb just visible through the microwave door.“Where is it this time?” Barry asks softly.“It’s my fucking shoulder.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart/Iris West
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	I Could Have Both

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SophiaCatherine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Soph! This isn't the surprise I quite hoped it would be, but I wanted your input, and I hope this is the emotionally realistic story you were looking for. The title is from [this](https://www.autostraddle.com/know-me-where-it-hurts-kink-cerebral-palsy-226077/) article, where "both" refers to "feel[ing] pain [and]...feel[ing] good."

Barry wakes up in the early hours of the morning to cold sheets on one side of him. He slips carefully out from under the covers, which draws a sleepy noise from Iris but doesn’t wake her. Out of habit, he maneuvers through the mostly-dark room to the sliver of light he can see at the bedroom door.

“Len?” he calls into the dimly-lit hallway. The light is coming from the kitchen, from which drift muttered curses and the occasional clatter. That can’t be good. “Len?”

Getting out to the kitchen reveals the source of the disruption: Len, bent over with his arms on the counter and his face hidden, Iris’s heating pad lamb just visible through the microwave door. 

“Where is it this time?” Barry asks softly.

“It’s my fucking shoulder.” Len’s voice is tight. Of several painful old injuries, his shoulder is the most prone to flare-ups. Barry hasn’t heard the whole story, but he’s gathered it was Lewis’s fault. “I can’t even fucking…I wanted to heat up the fucking lamb and come back to bed so the two of you wouldn’t worry.”

They’ll scold him for that train of thought later. For now, Barry steps across the kitchen, taking care to make a little noise with every step—Len likes to be able to track them by sound if he can’t see them. “If it’s your shoulder, why are you putting your head on your arms like that?”

“I can’t get around without the lights but they’re too fucking bright for me right now, and I don’t give a fuck about my shoulder, it’s going to hurt no matter what I fucking…” Len drags in a deep breath and straightens up. He keeps one hand over his eyes. Out of habit, Barry checks the lights, but the dimmer switch is as far down as it can go—no doubt that was the first thing Len tried. “I’m sorry, Scarlet. I shouldn’t snap.” His voice breaks and he confesses, “It hurts _so fucking much_ …”

“Is the lamb done?” Barry rests a hand in the small of Len’s back to keep him from moving while he ducks in to grab the lamb from the microwave. It’s as warm as Len can tolerate it, and he reaches up to press it gently to Len’s shoulder. “Hold that there, I’m going to go get the lamb sling.”

Obediently, Len takes the lamb and holds it in place. Barry darts back to the bedroom to grab the lamb sling, a strip of galaxy-patterned fabric with several Velcro squares that they made to hold the lamb against whatever was aching without stressing anyone’s arms. While he goes, he grabs the sleep mask that they use as a blindfold. Upon getting back, he helps Len with the lamb sling but waits on the mask.

“Do you want me to cover your eyes?”

Len nods and reaches out without opening his eyes. “You’re here to guide me now.”

Gently, Barry slips the mask over his tightly-closed eyes. He sees some of Len’s tension ease away just from that. “Do you want to come back to bed?” he checks. “Or do you want to go to the sofa?”

Len mumbles an answer that Barry doesn’t catch. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that,” he coaxes. 

“I wanna kneel,” Len mumbles. “Being floaty helps the damn…” He pats the lamb, now securely held to his shoulder by its galaxy-print sling. “But you know how long I take to get there when I’m in pain, you should go back to bed. I’ll just…” He looks briefly at a loss. 

“You’ll do no such thing.” Even sleepy-sounding, Iris’s voice sends a little thrill of surrender through Barry. He’s not in charge anymore—he doesn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing and making things worse for Len. She pads out into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, and asks, “Why did neither of my boys think to wake me?”

Barry mumbles, “Too focused,” at the same time Len confesses, “Didn’t want to bother you.” Iris regards both of them with a raised eyebrow before walking over to Len and brushing her fingertips over the mask. 

“Leonard,” she scolds. “It’s not a bother to wake us when you need help. Now, if you want to kneel, you’ll kneel. I’m going to take your hand.”

He nods, the movements jerky and erratic. “Please, Mistress.”

Iris reaches down and takes his left hand, since touching the right would aggravate his aching right shoulder. She guides him forward while he follows with slow, shuffling steps. “Barry,” she instructs. “Move the coffee table and put the pillow down by the center of the sofa. I think Len should kneel for both of us.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Barry bolts over to move the table and fetch Len’s pillow. He places it where Iris indicated just in time for her to lead Len over. She positions him so that he can feel the edge of the pillow with his toes before coaxing, 

“Kneel.”

With Iris’s help, Len finds his way onto the pillow. Once he’s kneeling, Barry and Iris sit to either side of him, taking care not to brush against him as they sit down. 

“Do you want us to touch you? Talk to you?” Iris checks. 

Len shudders. “Not—not touch. Can’t take it. Not…talking, either I think.” His mouth twists. When he speaks again, his voice wavers as though he’s started to cry. “I’m sorry…”

“No, sweetheart, no.” Iris reaches over and links her fingers with Barry’s. She wants to touch, but Len has made himself clear, and nothing is more important than respecting that. “You have nothing to be sorry for. If you want to kneel for us like this, we can do that.”

Len kneels for a long time, mostly in silence except for occasional frustrated whimpers. He's so eager to sink into subspace that he's making it harder for himself, but they don't dare try to help when he's asked them to stay quiet and not touch. After the first ten minutes, Iris sends Barry for a cup of water and a straw. When he comes back, she has him lay down with his head in her lap so she can pet him while he lets Len sip some water. 

Presently, Len reaches out with his left hand and fumbles along Iris’s leg. She catches his hand, and he immediately guides her to touch his head. “Good touch,” he murmurs. 

“You want me to pet your hair?” Iris clarifies in a low voice. 

Len nods and repeats, “Good touch.”

Iris starts to rub her fingers over Len’s scalp. Barry reaches out to do the same. When they pet in tandem, Len makes a soft needy sound and sits forward to make it easier for them.

“Our good boy,” Iris croons as they pet. “Such a good boy, telling us what you need. I wish you’d told us sooner, but you’re so, so good for telling us when we asked.” She scratches her nails over the tender spot at the nape of Len’s neck. He mewls and tips forward so his head is resting on her thigh. “Oh, sweetheart. How long have you been hurting?”

He shakes his head. He may not know, Barry supposes, which is the most charitable answer; he may also be ashamed to tell them because he knows they won't understand why he didn't ask for help. “Better,” he mumbles. “Floaty and…and…warm.”

“Good.” Barry rubs his fingertips in tight circles over the top of Len’s head. “Do you want to stay kneeling for us? Or are you gonna be able to stay nice and floaty if we bring you up onto the sofa?”

Len mulls this over. Iris has just opened her mouth to make a suggestion—if he has to think about a question for this long, he usually wants one of them to decide—when he asks softly, “Sofa?”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Iris coos. She helps him to his feet and guides him down onto the sofa between them. It’s a snug fit, not out of necessity (the sofa is plenty big) but to give Len some comforting pressure. Barry, who’s on the left side, is able to snuggle under Len’s arm and press up against his side. Iris, who’s on the aching right side, leaves a little more room for him to find a comfortable position with his arm. Once he’s settled, she lays her hand on his thigh and squeezes rhythmically. “Is this good?”

He nods. His mouth twists in frustration before he manages a whisper-soft “Thank you.”

“We like to take care of you,” Barry murmurs. “That’s why we want you to tell us these things, okay?” 

Len burrows closer to him, shifting his right arm as he does so that whatever lingering pain he feels is manageable. When he speaks, his voice is a low rumble near Barry’s ear. “So floaty.”

“Good,” Iris coos. Her hand keeps massaging Len’s thigh. “Good boys deserve to be floaty, sweetheart. Good boys deserve to be taken care of so they’re floaty, even if it’s hard to get there.” With a hint of concern in her voice, she checks, “How's the pain?”

Len hums. “’S…hazy. There, but…less. More like normal.”

“Do you need me to turn the lamb?” Iris checks. 

“The…huh?” Len lifts his head a little bit. After a moment, he settles back against Barry and mumbles, “No, ‘s good.” 

“Do you…” Barry asks before catching a glimpse of Iris shaking her head. Instead, he turns his head just enough to press a gentle kiss to Len’s hairline. “You’re good for us. So good.”

Within a few minutes, Len’s breathing has deepened until he’s unquestionably asleep. He’s heavy against Barry’s shoulder, but Barry isn’t going to complain. Pain is exhausting on its own, something he knows firsthand, but it sounds like Len’s kept him from sleeping. He clearly needs the rest. 

“Shh.” Iris leans over, careful of Len’s right shoulder, and kisses his cheek. “Our good boy. We should try to get him to eat something when he wakes. Do you think he took his pain medication when he woke up?”

“Maybe? I didn’t ask, I got wrapped up with making sure he had the heating lamb.” Barry glances at Len’s sleeping face. The mask obscures the upper half of his face, but Barry has seen him sleep after a flare-up enough times to imagine how he looks: eyes scrunched, face tense even in a clearly exhausted sleep. “We should have it close by when he wakes, in case he asks, and I’ll be ready to put the lamb back in the microwave.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Iris scolds softly, “he’s asleep on you. I’ll deal with the lamb, and I’ll bring over the medications and some food.”

“Maybe wait on the food? He’ll want ice cream.”

“Right.” Iris strokes Len’s hair and coos, “Stay asleep.”

After a few minutes, Barry’s eyes start to droop too. Despite the worry for Len, he was woken in the wee hours of the morning, and it’s so tempting to close his eyes…

When he looks over, Iris is curled on the other side of the sofa, turned so she can see both of them without putting her weight on Len’s arm. Her eyes are drowsy-soft and she’s smiling. “Go to sleep, babe,” she murmurs. “He’ll wake us if he moves.”

Barry nods and lets his eyes fall closed. Within a few minutes, all of them are asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> There's now a sequel dealing with Barry's chronic pain [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414054).


End file.
